Left Behind
by nicnac918
Summary: In the winter of 1982 Stanford Pines fell through a trans-universal portal into the Nightmare Realm. He left behind his twin brother and the one being that cared about him more than anything in the world, and for the very first time in his entire life, Ford was completely and utterly alone. Because Ford fell through the portal. His dæmon didn't.
1. Chapter 1

Stan pushed his hood back to get a better look at Ford's place and was immediately grateful for the snowstorm keeping him from getting too good a look. Ford's house was creepy as anything, not to mention the huge "STAY OUT" sign. That probably didn't apply to someone who had been invited, right? Not that it mattered either way; Stan wasn't going to turn back now.

Probably. Stan probably wasn't going to turn back now, but he still found himself hesitating before he knocked on the door. "You haven't seen your brother in over ten years."

He felt something against his left leg, and he turned to look at Cassandra, who had gone up on her hind legs to rest one paw up against Stan's thigh. "It's okay. He's family. He won't bite," Sandy said. The snowflakes clung to her black fur, looking like stars and constellations on a cloudless night, and Stan feels his lips quirk up in spite of himself.

"Oh yeah? What about Cass?" he said.

"Cass is family too, knucklehead," she replied. Sandy gave a fox grin, mischievous and full of needle-sharp teeth. "Besides, I'd like to see her try."

"Yeah, I'll bet you can still take her," Stan agreed, going along with the joke and letting it steel his resolve. They'd been doing this the whole drive up from New Mexico, Stan freaking out about going to see Ford, wondering what his brother could possibly want and why he would have reached out to Stan after all these years, and Sandy keeping him focused and light and hopeful. It was a flip from usual, since normally Stan was the one trying to put a good spin on things while Sandy worried, but maybe it wasn't that surprising. Sandy had been pushing for them to come see Ford and Cass, or at least talk to them on the phone, for years now.

"Alright," Stan said. "Alright." He knocked on the door.

Almost immediately it flung open. "Who is it? Have you come to steal my eyes?" Ford shouted, pointing a crossbow right at Stan's face. At his feet was Cassiopeia, her silver-grey hair fluffed up to its full-length as the cat hissed at Stan and Sandy. Upside, technically no one had actually bitten anyone yet. So there was that.

Really, Stan couldn't stay annoyed at Ford for too long. He and Cass looked bad, worse than Stan and Sandy even maybe, and that was saying something. Whatever crazy thing Ford had gotten up to – drugs? Stan would bet it was drugs. Ford had never been the type for that sort of thing, but he was sure acting like he was strung out on something. And after ten years, Stan wasn't sure he knew what Ford was or wasn't the type for anymore anyway. Still drugs or whatever else, it was clear that something had Ford in a full-blown paranoid panic.

So here was Ford, panicking and in way over his head with something and needing help, and he had called Stan. Here was Ford, saying he didn't know who he could trust anymore, and he _had called Stan_. That had to mean something, right? Stan just had to help Ford out with his problem here, drugs or whatever it was, and then maybe… but Stan was getting ahead of himself. Sure, it had to mean something that Ford had called Stan. It had to mean something that while Stan and Ford were riding down Ford's elevator – seriously, an actual elevator inside his house – Sandy had sat down next to Cass so close that black fox fur mixed and blended with grey Main Coon fur, and Cass hadn't moved away. But Cass also hadn't leaned into either, and that had to mean something too. So just focus on helping Ford right now, and then take what happened next as it came.

Then they got down to the basement, and Stan realized that he might been in a little over his head too. "There is _nothing_ about this I understand."

"It's a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through the weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily harnessed for terrible destruction. That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explained how to operate it. There's only one journal left. And you are the _only_ person I can trust to take it. I have something to ask of you: you remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?" Stan smiled and Sandy's ears pricked up so high in interest she was standing on her hind legs again. "Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth! Bury it where no one can find it!"

Something in Stan broke. Sandy dropped back down to all four legs and snarled at Cass, who took a half-step backwards before hissing right back at Sandy. Stan barely noticed that, barely noticed the words coming out of his own mouth. Stan had come all this way because Ford had summoned him, because Stan thought that meant something, and all Ford wanted was kick Stan right out the door again. Ford cared about some stupid book more than he cared about his own brother, so Stan would destroy the stupid book. Ford, unsurprisingly, did not take too kindly to that plan.

Bright, red hot, searing pain. Stan screamed in agony as his shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Across the room he could hear Sandy howling as Stan collapsed to the floor.

"Stanley! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you alr-" Ford started to say.

Stan didn't want to hear it. He was done with it, all of it. Forget Ford, forget his dumb book and dumb machine and dumb mysteries, forget that Stan ever had a dumb twin brother. Stan took the book and shoved it at Ford. Ford stumbled backwards and started floating up into the air toward the bright light swirling in the middle of his machine.

What.

"Whoa, whoa, hey what's going on? Hey, hey, Stanford-" Stan said.

"Stanford!" Cass screamed behind him. Stan chanced a look back. Cass was pinned to the ground by Sandy, struggling to get away, but Sandy was caught up in her own panic and holding Cass down.

"Cassiopeia! Stanley, help me!" Ford cried, snapping Stan attention back to his brother.

"Oh no, what do I do?"

"Stanley! Stanley! Do something! Stanley!" Ford chucked his book at Stan. Stan just managed to catch it before there was a bright flash of light and he was knocked unconscious.

Stan came to a few seconds later, just in time to see a flash of silver-grey fur streak pass him and up to the machine. "Stanford! Stanford, no! Come back! Come back, Stanford; you can't leave me here without you!" Cass wailed, pawing and scratching at the machine, but nothing happened except the thing powering the rest of the way down.

Part of Stan wanted to do what Cass was doing, to pound at the machine and demand it spit his brother back out. But the sight of Cass there with no Ford to be found on top of everything else was one more thing than Stan could bear, so he just sat there in the ground in shock.

There was a nudge against his hand as Sandy came up to him. Stan wanted to pick her up and hold her close to his chest. He wanted to prove to himself they were both still here, in stark denial of the gruesome, lonesome scene playing out in front of them, but he couldn't make himself move. "Ford ain't really gone, is he?" Sandy whispered. "He can't be, not if Cass is still…"

Somehow the sound caught Cass's ear. She whipped around and stalked up to them, her tail lashing furiously. "He _is_ gone. Stanford's stuck in the Nightmare Realm and it's _all your fault_. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

Sandy crawled low on her belly toward Cass, ears pressed down against her skull. "Cass, we-"

"You _severed_ us!" Cass shouted.

Stan gagged. He hadn't meant to… He'd learned about severing back in history class; everyone did. Way back when, someone had gotten the idea into their heads a good way to make crazy people more even-tempered was to break their connection with their dæmon, and for a long time it was used as a psychological "treatment." Eventually people realized how sick and twisted it was, and these days severing was only ever used as a highly illegal form of torture. One time a guy had threatened to do it to Stan and Sandy. Stan didn't know if the guy would have ever followed through on it or not, but just the threat had Stan, for the first and only time, going to the cops. It meant eighteen months in prison and a bunch of community service Stan had never bothered showing up for, 'fessing up to his part in everything, but it got the guy threatening Stan twenty-five to life, so it was worth it. If Stan had gotten twenty-five to life it still would have been worth it, to keep him and Sandy safe from severing. And Stan had done that to his own brother.

Sandy rolled over on her back and tried to lick at Cass's muzzle, but that only got her hissed at. "We didn't mean to do it. It was an accident," Sandy whined.

"It wasn't an accident; you held me down," Cass snapped. "I was trying to get to Ford and _you held me down_. Why couldn't you just let me go? Why can't you ever let us go?"

"I didn't mean to, I swear I did mean to. I was just scared. Ford was flying into that machine and we didn't know what was happening to him and I couldn't let you go. Because when we let you go, you leave us behind," Sandy said.

"Well now I'm left behind with you. Now Ford and I are severed and we're going to fade away until Ford dies and I disappear into nothing. Is that what you wanted? Are you two happy now?" Cass demanded, her voice choked and cracking.

"We'll fix it," Stan said softly, then again, louder and surer. "We'll fix it. You know how this machine works, right Cass? You tell me what to do, and I'll get it running again so we can pull Ford back out. Then everything will be alright." It wouldn't be really, Stan knew. You couldn't un-sever someone after it happened; what's done was done. But if they could get Ford and Cass back together physically at least, then that was supposed to keep them from fading out and dying. It wasn't ever going to be alright, but they would still be alive, and that was something anyway.

"We can't! Every time the portal is activated we run the risk of bringing about the end of the world as we know it," Cass said.

"Jeez, what the heck were you two doing down here anyway?" Stan said. "Don't answer that. Look, I don't know anything about trans-universal portals or whatever, and I don't care. All I care about is you said Ford was in some place called the Nightmare Realm and that can't be good. All I care about is if we don't get Ford back the both of you are going to die, and I won't let that happen. It's my fault he fell through, and I'm going to save him."

"Ford wouldn't want to be saved if it meant re-opening the portal. We would willingly die if that's what it takes to keep it shut and keep the world safe," Cass insisted.

"Well too bad. Ford ain't here, so he doesn't get a vote, which means it's two against one. Me and Sandy are going to bring Ford back. If that means the end of the world, then we'll deal with it when it happens," Stan said. He stood up and crossed his arms, and Sandy came to stand at his heels, both of them glaring challengingly at Cass.

Cass lashed her tail twice. "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"Just born that way, I guess," Stan said.

"Ford's our family," Sandy added. "We'll always have his back, even if he hates us."

Cass looked back and forth between the two of them for a minute, then deflated. "Just promise me one thing? After we die, promise you'll take the journal away like Ford asked you to."

"Not going to happen," Stan said. "I'm not letting you die."

"I thought you'd say that." Cass walked toward the basement entrance, pausing briefly to press her nose into Sandy's side. "We don't hate you," she whispered, then she was gone.

Stan turned to Sandy. "C'mon. Let's get to work."


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, Stan had thought it was going to be easy. It wasn't the craziest thing to think. Yeah, this portal thing looked insanely complicated, but Stan wasn't trying to build a new one from the ground up or anything; he was just trying to turn it back on for a minute. He and Ford had done that by accident while they had been fighting and shoving each other around the room, so doing it on purpose should be easy. Stan even had Ford's journal which Ford had said was some kind of instruction manual for working the thing. With all that, how hard could it be?

Famous last words. Probably Stan should have been tipped off that this wasn't going to be simple by the way Cass had left him to it without a fuss right after saying she'd rather she and Ford die than have the machine turned back on. Stan was just so used to people thinking he was an idiot, he forgot that maybe Cass actually did have some idea of what Stan was capable of, and what he wasn't. She wasn't implying he was too stupid to figure it out because he was an idiot; she was implying he was too stupid to figure it out because figuring it out took a literal genius. Stan would deny being an idiot, but he didn't pretend to be any kind of genius either.

Ford's book was no help. When had first looked at it, it had fallen open to a page toward the back that looked… well, frankly it looked terrifyingly complicated, but aside from that, it looked like some kind of schematic for the machine. That seemed promising, but when Stan flipped through the rest of the book, there was nothing else in there about how to read the schematics, or anything at all about the machine or trans-universal gateways or holes in the fabric of reality or anything. All Stan had to help him was a two page spread of nonsense, a bunch of other nonsense sprinkled on random pages that looked like code that might or might not be related to the machine, and a page in the back of the book saying it continued in Journal #2.

Stan still read the entire book cover to cover, hoping to find something else, but there was nothing. Just when Stan was about to either try reading it through a second time, or maybe get up and start flipping random switches, to feel like he was doing something, Sandy pawed at his leg. "It's getting late. Maybe we should check on Cass."

Stan sighed. "Yeah, probably should." He stood up and snapped the book shut, but he didn't set it down. He'd take it with him, maybe read through it again upstairs.

"Get some food and sleep too," Sandy said, trotting at his heels as he walked to the elevator.

"Sure thing, Ma," Stan said, but there was no bite to it; he knew she was right.

Upstairs, Stan found the kitchen before he found Cass, and the place was an even bigger disaster than the rest of the house, if that was possible. He opened the fridge and groaned – he was not up for playing "is it still edible?" right now. Pushing some stuff around, Stan finally spotted a can of beans that Ford had stuck in there for who knew what reason. He pulled it out, popped it open with his Swiss Army knife, and ate the beans cold straight from the can. It was still better than a lot of the "food" he'd eaten over the last ten years. After he was done he threw the can in the sink – well, on top of the pile of dishes spilling out of the sink – and went to look for Cass.

Stan and Sandy finally found her upstairs in what looked like Ford's bedroom. She was curled up in a tight ball on top of the pillow. The bed, Stan noticed, was probably the tidiest looking thing in the entire house, and with everything else it was starting to paint a picture Stan didn't like. Maybe Stan really didn't have any idea what the two of them had been through up here in their secluded cabin in the woods.

"Hey Cass," Stan said hesitantly. Cass didn't so much as twitch. "How ya doing?"

He could have kicked himself. What the heck kind of question was that? How was she doing? She was doing freaking terrible, same as him and Sandy, but a million times worse. They had lost their brother, but Cass had lost her _person_. She had been _severed_ , and they had done that to her.

Sandy jumped up on the bed and sat down next to the pillow. "Cass? Cass, we're really sorry. I don't know if we said, but we're really, really sorry. I know you don't think we can fix it, but we're gonna. No matter what it takes, we'll fix it." Cass kept right on giving them the silent treatment.

Except, the more Stan looked at her, the less he thought that was what she was doing. Truth was, he recognized that look, bone deep. Cass had the look of someone who was done, who had given up on everything and now was just lying down waiting to die. And it was all Stan fault. Stan had done this to her, and now he couldn't stop thinking about how much "we don't hate you," was starting to sound like "good-bye."

Sandy looked up at Stan, and he could tell she saw it too. Trouble was, this wasn't the kind of thing they could fix, or if it was, then they didn't know how. Finally Sandy pressed her nose into Cass's fur and said, "We love you." Then she jumped down off the bed and walked back over to Stan. "I'm pretty sure I saw a cot down in the storage room."

Stan nodded. There was enough room in here to set up a cot next to Ford's bed. Maybe Cass didn't want to have anything to do with them right now, but they'd be here when she did. And if she never did, then they'd keep right on being here anyway.

They fell into a sort of routine after that. Stan would wake up in the morning and scrounge up something to eat real quick from Ford's kitchen before going down to the basement. He and Sandy'd spend all day working on the machine and trying to decode Ford's journal until Sandy nudged him to tell him to turn in for the day. Stan always listened when she did, in part because she wasn't even a little bit above biting him if she thought he wasn't listening, but mostly because he knew she was right. Something that Stan had learned during his years on the road was that while pushing himself harder and harder sounded like a good idea sometimes, in reality when he pushed himself until he was too tired and hungry to think straight, he, well, stopped thinking straight. This machine already had enough of an advantage on him as it was; he couldn't be coming at it at anything less than the top of his game. The thing was, even though Stan and Sandy both knew Ford and Cass were more important than them, and they'd be willing to run themselves ragged to save Ford and Cass, they were also Ford and Cass's only hope right now and running themselves ragged wasn't going to help anything while they were still so far from the finish line. So when Sandy prompted, Stan would put down the tools and the books and go back upstairs to grab some sort of dinner before falling into bed to sleep. Well, to try to sleep anyway. Meanwhile, as far as Stan or Sandy could tell, Cass stayed up on her pillow and never moved an inch.

A week passed – a whole freaking week – without anything to show for it except Cass's continued existence. Stan couldn't remember now how long a person was supposed to be able to survive after being severed and kept from their dæmon, but however long it was, Stan reckoned Ford and Cass would hang on for twice that amount of time before Cass faded out. Ford was just about the only person Stan had ever met that might be more stubborn than Stan himself; he'd hang on to the bitter end. So they had that going for them, and nothing else.

Stan stared blankly at the ceiling and tried to will his eyes closed. It wasn't working too well.

"Hey Stan," Sandy said.

"Yeah?"

"Are we sure Cass is dying?"

"Jeez Sandy," Stan said glancing over at Cass, but she was continuing to pay them no mind. He lowered his voice anyway before continuing. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one. She doesn't smell like she's dying."

"Well it ain't like she's got a disease. She's… well, I guess she's soul sick. Would that kind of thing even have a smell?"

"Everything has a smell," Sandy replied primly.

"I'll take your word for it," Stan said, rolling his eyes.

Sandy swatted lightly at him with her paw. "It's just, I've been thinking. Dæmons that have been, you know," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "severed, afterwards they're supposed to be kind of blank and lifeless, right?"

Stan glanced over at Cass again, this time pointedly. "Yeah, I know," Sandy said, "but I'm talking about right after it happened. She was practically spitting she was so angry at us. That ain't exactly what I'd call lifeless."

"Yeah, but like you said, it had just happened. She was probably just in shock or something," Stan said.

"Way she was acting was pretty much the opposite of shock," Sandy pointed out.

"Okay, so it was the opposite of shock. An adrenaline rush for a minute before she came down."

"Do dæmons even have adrenaline?" Sandy asked.

"What're you asking me for? Not like I would know if you don't," said Stan.

"I'll bet Cass would know."

"Yeah okay, you go ask her then."

Stan said that sarcastically, but Sandy apparently decided to take him at his word. She hopped from the cot over to Ford's bed and walked up to Cass curled up on her pillow. "Hey Cass? Cass? Do dæmons have adrenaline? Cass?" she said, poking at Cass with her paw a coupla of times.

Cass didn't say anything back, which wasn't surprising, but she did curl herself up just a little bit tighter like she was trying to get away from Sandy, which was. Sandy looked up at Stan, her ears perked and her tail giving a slow wag. Stan got what she meant. Normally a non-verbal go away wasn't the best response, but right now any kind of response from Cass was a good one.

"Leave her alone, Sandy. Obviously she doesn't know." Dang, back to ignoring them. Stan was hoping that maybe her pride would be enough to goad her into responding.

"Nuh-uh, she told me she does know, and they don't," Sandy said, jumping back on the cot with Stan.

"Oh yeah, she tell you that in your secret dæmon twin language?" Stan asked. Now there was a blast from the past. Cass and Sandy hadn't teased him and Ford about their "secret language" since they were kids.

"Is so real," Sandy said. "Right Cass? Cass says I'm right."

"Yeah, yeah. Alright then, if Cass ain't fading and it wasn't shock or adrenaline, then what's your theory?" Stan asked.

"I was thinking about those old stories about witches. You know the ones about how they could get as far away from their dæmons as they wanted, but they were still connected and okay?"

"Ford ain't a witch," Stan said.

"He wasn't ten years ago, but you've seen the stuff in his journal. There are a coupla of spells even. He could be a witch now for all we know," Sandy said.

"For all we know, maybe, but don't you think Cass would know if that was true?" said Stan.

"Oh." Sandy's ears drooped and her tail hung low. "She would, wouldn't she?"

"Hey, don't listen to me. Not like I know what I'm talking about anyway," Stan said, reaching for Sandy.

She crawled up on top of his chest and laid down. Stan rested a hand on her back and scratched the top of her head with the other. "I just don't want to wake up one day to find out Cass disappeared in the night," Sandy said. "I don't want them to die."

"And they ain't gonna, witch or no," Stan said. "You hear me, you stubborn cat? I ain't gonna let you die. You said it yourself, me and Sandy are no good at letting you and Ford go, and we ain't about to start now." He thought he saw Cass's ear twitch, but he might have imagined that.

"She says we're a pair of stubborn idiots," Sandy said.

"She would," Stan said with a little smile. "Thanks, Sandy." This last week had been the worst one of his entire life, which was saying something, and things didn't look to be looking up anytime soon. Stan needed this, a minute to joke around a little and be reminded not everything had to be doom and gloom all the time.

"Always," Sandy said. She licked his nose, then with a heavy sigh rested her head and closed her eyes. Stan closed his eyes too, and this time they stayed shut. For the first time all week Stan drifted off into peaceful, exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When they woke up in the morning, Cass was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

That morning Stan woke up late and slow. He knew he shouldn't be letting himself do that. Taking care of his body's needs was one thing, but indulging himself was another altogether and unacceptable when he had to save Ford. Thing was, he thought maybe he hadn't totally been taking care of his body's needs this week with regards to sleeping. Sure, he'd been climbing into bed at a not unreasonable hour and trying to sleep every night, but trying was really the operative word there. So once exhaustion finally managed to grab hold of him, it wasn't exactly eager to let him go again.

He laid there for a long time, or what seemed like it, awake enough to know he ought to be getting up, but too asleep to muster the energy to open his eyes yet. A feeling of dread struck him, but he didn't pay it much notice. There were a lot of things he had to dread right now, and his peaceful night's rest had only been a brief reprieve from that. Besides, truth was even before he'd come to Ford's house that dark tangle sitting cold and heavy like a stone in his gut had been a very familiar feeling. It was getting to the point where it was weirder if he didn't feel that way. Then Sandy called his name in a hushed tone that shook him to his core, and Stan realized that maybe this wasn't normal dread he was feeling at all.

Stan's eyes snapped open and shot over to Cass's pillow. That's was the only thing in the world he could think of that would make Sandy sound like that. But the pillow was almost pristine with only the slightest indentation in the middle. Cass wasn't there. Cass was gone.

"Cass is gone," Stan said. The words echoed dully in his chest and mind, feeling vague and unreal and only growing more so with each repetition. Cass was gone. Cass was gone. Cass was gone.

"She can't be gone. She was doing so much better last night. You saw; she was doing better," Sandy insisted.

"Yeah," Stan said. He wouldn't have said "so much," but Cass had been doing a bit better the night before it seemed like. Now, Cass was gone.

"Maybe she got up before us and went down to check on the portal," Sandy suggested. Stan didn't think Cass would have been tall enough to reach the keypad for the elevator, but he didn't say anything. He just followed Sandy downstairs to the basement and punched the code in for himself. The doors opened immediately, like they had been right there waiting for them.

Sandy glanced nervously up at Stan. "Maybe Cass sent the elevator back up for us after she went down. Or maybe she and Ford built another secret back entrance or something."

"Maybe," Stan said. They took the elevator down, but Cass wasn't in the basement either. Cass was gone.

Sandy led them on a search through every room of the house, certain that Cass had to be hidden in one of the rooms. She was frantic, digging in every corner, yelling Cass's name, and letting out distressed barks, but Stan couldn't feel any of it. He followed Sandy around and looked with her because it was Sandy, but he couldn't feel any of the desperation she was. Cass was gone, and Stan couldn't feel a thing.

"She must have gone outside," Sandy declared after they'd searched every square inch of the house. "She must have, and with all the snow it'll be easy to track her. Come on."

Stan followed Sandy back to the front room and opened the door for her. Sandy charged out. Stan followed her and then carefully shut the door behind them. Shouldn't let all the heat out. Stan turned back around to see Sandy stopped practically mid-stride, her head swiveling frantically as her eyes searched the yard. In front of them was a pristine expanse of white, this time without even the slightest indentation.

"Maybe she went out the back door. Or, or it's really cloudy out. Maybe she left early this morning and it snowed after and covered her tracks," Sandy said. "Let's go check the back first and then we can-"

"Sandy," Stan said. "Stop. Cass is gone. They're both gone."

The words hit Sandy like a blow, and she crumpled in on herself. "But she was doing so much better last night."

"Yeah," Stan said. "She was."

Stan wasn't sure how he ended up sitting down on the porch with his legs drawn up. The fabric over the knees of his jeans was starting to get very thin. They'd be getting holes in them soon.

Sandy crawled up into his lap, squeezing her way into the narrow space between his legs and his chest. Stan moved his hand to the top of her head and managed a couple listless scratches before he lost track of what he was doing and just let it rest there. Sandy didn't seem to mind. "We promised Cass we'd take the journal and hide it after… after," she said.

Stan didn't remember promising that. He remembered promising Cass that they'd find a way to save them, that they'd bring Ford back home again and reunite her with him. He'd promised it over and over again and he'd failed. Like he always did.

"Stan?" Sandy prompted.

"Yeah, we'll do that," Stan said. He didn't remember promising Cass, but he remembered Ford asking him to. Maybe if Stan had listened Ford and Cass would still be… "I just need a minute."

"Okay," Sandy said. She rested her head down against his chest and closed her eyes. Stan looked down at her. It really wasn't fair that foxes couldn't cry.

Hiding the journal. Ford had wanted Stan to hide his journal where no one would ever find it. Stan owed his brother that much. He owed Ford more than that, but hiding the journal was something he could do. He'd take it to the heart of the rainforest or deep within the Sahara Desert or to the North Pole, then dig a hole and bury it six feet under. One last favor for his brother. Then Stan would be done with all of it forever. Then Stan could… One thing at a time. First he had to hide Ford's journal. He'd get up and do it, in just a minute.

Some time later, maybe a long time, maybe a short time, probably more than a minute, Cass's ears pricked up. She wriggled around in Stan's lap until she could stand with her front paws on his knees and her ears angled towards the woods out in front of them. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what?"

" _That_ ," Sandy said. She jumped free of Stan's hold and took off bounding across the snow.

She got about fifteen feet away before Stan felt himself come roaring back to life when agony and pain worse than anything he'd ever felt came tearing through his chest. Every kid tried it when they were little, seeing how far they could get away from their dæmon. Some kids tried it more than once, seeing if they could stretch themselves further and further each time. Stan and Cassandra had only done it the one time though. Stan could stand physical pain, bumps and scrapes and broken bones, but the feeling of being torn apart from the inside, the threat of being utterly and completely alone was more than he or Sandy could take. They'd gotten pretty good at working through the pain and doing it when they had to over the past ten years, just like they'd gotten pretty good at doing anything they had to to survive, but it was always an absolute last resort. Yet here was Sandy tugging away at him like Stan was locked up in a cell and some stupid guard had left the keys twenty feet from the door.

"Come on Stanley, we have to _go_." She was probably further away now than she'd ever been before, with her paws sunk deep into the snow as she braced off against the ground to creep forward step by agonizing step. So what could Stan do but stumble to his feet and go after her?

Sandy waited until Stan got into a comfortable range, then took off running again. She went slow enough for Stan to keep up, but only just. "Where the heck are we going?" Stan asked as he sprinted after her through the woods.

"Listen!" Sandy called back. Stan thought about pointing out that wasn't any kind of answer, but he decided to save his breath for running instead.

A minute or so later Stan realized that maybe it was an answer after all when he heard… Well, he couldn't be hearing what he thought he was hearing. He couldn't let himself get his hopes up; he didn't think he'd survive it this time if he was wrong. He wouldn't think about the voice he definitely was not hearing, wouldn't think about what Sandy had started calling back to the imaginary voice, wouldn't think about the feeling rising up in his chest. But he would push himself to run a little faster.

The thing about running through the woods was you could rarely see more than a few feet in front of you. That meant that one second Stan was dodging around a tree and the next a silver-grey cat was bursting out of a bush in front of him yelling, "Cassandra!" at the top of her lungs.

"Cassiopeia!" Sandy cried back, leaping at Cass. Her tail wagged furiously as she licked Cass's face with abandon, hindering Cass's attempts to groom her right back. Somehow between the licking and Cass's purring, the two of them managed a rushed conversation as well, their words tumbling over and into each other. "Cass! What're you doing out here?"

"I was trying to find you and the cabin, but I got lost."

"Should have just followed the road."

"Through the woods is faster."

"Not if you don't know the way, knucklehead."

"I'm here now."

"Yes! You're here, you're here, you're here!"

Meanwhile Stan had fallen to his knees, heedless of the snow soaking through his pants. The relief was almost more overwhelming in its own way than the despair had been, and this time he was feeling every bit of it. "Cassiopeia," he finally managed to croak out.

Cass looked up at him, and there was a moment of hesitation before her eyes narrowed in pleasure and she said, "Stanley."

"You're alive." She was alive. Ford was alive. Stan hadn't let them down.

"Of course I'm alive," Cass responded.

"When we woke up you were gone," Sandy said. "You hadn't moved in a week, and then you were just gone. We were scared you and Ford had died." She licked Cass's cheek again.

Cass gave her a quick lick back. "Sorry. I got up early and went to go do… something. I was going to try and be back before too late, but I got confused, and then I got lost." Stan was going to ask what kind of something she suddenly had to do right that morning without even waiting for Sandy and Stan to wake up when she hadn't seen fit to do anything at all for the past week, but Cass's next statement had the words dying in his throat. "Who's Ford?"

"Ford," Sandy said. "You know, Stanford."

Cass shook her head. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Knock it off; it's not funny," Stan said. "Ford. Your person."

"But Stanley, you're my person. I mean, I don't… it doesn't… but you have to be. You and Sandy are the only ones I can remember, so you have to be my person and Sandy is your other dæmon."

"Me?" Stan asked. "No I'm not… you gotta remember Ford. Stanford Pines. Sixer. A huge genius and a huger nerd. He looks just like me except for the big coke bottle lens and the cleft chin and the six fingers. My twin brother. Your person. _Ford_."

Cass shook her head again, but this time like she was trying to clear it or shake something loose. "I remember you and Sandy. And, oh, brother, I remember Shermie and Clara. And Ma and Pa and their dæmons. But they all only have one dæmon; why would you have two unless… No. No, you have to be."

"I'm _not_ ," Stan said his voice breaking. "C'mon Cass, please. You've gotta remember Ford."

"But I don't. If he was really my person, then why isn't he here? Why don't I remember him? Why don't I remember…?"

Sandy snuggled in as close to Cass as she could and looked at Stan. "You think maybe it's a side effect?"

Stan had never heard of severing having a side effect like that, but then he wasn't exactly an expert on it. And thinking about it, this hadn't really been a regular severing either. Who knew what kind of effects being torn apart across dimensions would have. "Maybe."

"Side effect of what?" Cass asked sharply. "What are you keeping from me?"

"We're not keeping anything from you," Sandy said. "You just forgot is all."

"Remind me," said Cass.

"About a week and a half ago me and Sandy got a postcard from Ford, asking me to come up here to Gravity Falls. I don't know what kind of stuff the two of you had been getting into, but I don't think it was good. You showed us this big machine you'd built, some kind of portal to another dimension or something. Then me and Ford got into a fight and ended up accidentally turning the thing on. We weren't really paying attention, and then…"

"It was bright," Cass said slowly. "It was so bright and loud and I was screaming and you were holding me down, Sandy and, and. And I lost something. The most important thing, but I can't. Why can't I remember?" She was kneading at the ground, her paws sinking down into the snow.

"Ford," Stan said softly. "You lost Ford. We all did."

"Then let's turn the portal back on and get him back," Cass demanded.

Stan and Sandy looked at one another. If Cass didn't remember she didn't want the portal turned back on, and they conveniently forgot to mention it, then maybe they could get her help with it. Then maybe…

"You told us not to," Sandy said. "Me and Stan have been trying to fix it up anyway, but you told us we shouldn't because if we did it might cause the end of the world."

" _I don't care_ ," Cass said. "There's a hole in my head, and I don't care if the world burns; I need him. I need him back, _please._ "

Stan couldn't take it anymore. It was so wrong seeing Cass sitting there breaking down all alone without Ford to comfort her. She needed him, but all she had was Stan. So Stan picked her up and held her in his arms. She froze for the briefest moment, apparently instinctively aware even without her memories that Stan wasn't hers and shouldn't be touching her. Then the moment passed, and she burrowed in close against his chest. "Please, Stanley."

"We'll get him back," Stan said. "Screw the rest of the world; they can all go hang for all I care. No matter what it takes, we'll get Ford back."


End file.
